


Finding Home

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Childhood Sweethearts, De-Aged Derek Hale, De-Aged Stiles Stilinski, Found Family, Future Fic, Getting Together, Kid Fic, M/M, Mates, Mutually Oblivious Pining, POV Alternating, Pixies, Spells & Enchantments, Temporary Amnesia, canon sort of compliant, stiles adopts a dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To teach them a lesson, a pair of mischievous pixies hit Derek and Stiles with a spell that makes them six years old again. Neither of them remembers anything about their lives beyond that age. What happens when the pair of them become immediate friends and declare that when they grow up they will get married? Will they remember anything when the spell wears off?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for "Finding Home"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348699) by [Amaradex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaradex/pseuds/Amaradex). 



> For the  
> [Teen Wolf Big Bang](http://teenwolfbigbang.livejournal.com/) on Livejournal with beautiful artwork by [water-singer](http://water-singer.livejournal.com/) on LJ. Please popover to the art post (linked to this one) and show some love

 

 

The chilly winter air whipped past them as they ran. They were hot on the heels of several mischievous snow pixies, whose idea of fun was to breeze— _ ha breeze. Nice one, Stiles _ — through town hitting Beacon Hills with a cold snap to rival the Upper Midwest. Frost clung to window panes and windshields. The breath of residents hung in the air, visible, as they walked their dogs. Black ice glazed over the streets, making driving hazardous. Already, there had been several accidents.

Lydia had been the one to deduce the problem, catching a glimpse of the pint-sized pranksters, on her way back from Macy’s one day. They had wings the color of a frozen pond and skin a pale blue. She had seen them flitting above the parking lot, cover the ground two inches deep in snow. Being California, the townspeople weren’t equipped to drive in it. She’d made the call to Scott, who, true to form, consulted Deaton. The only way to end the pixies’ reign of terror was to capture one of them and convince them, ever so politely, to reverse the freeze they’d put on Beacon Hills. 

Easier said than done. 

It was two weeks before Christmas, and here they were, the whole pack, home from college, hunting yet another group of supernatural beings who decided to make Beacon Hills their playground. Though the pixies weren’t dangerous, they were no less annoying. 

Stiles skidded to a stop near the lake as he realized that he and the pack had become separated. He shivered; his thin hoodie was a poor choice given the conditions. Looking around, he tried to find any of his friends. The last thing he wanted was to find himself alone, lest he come face to face with one of the frozen fiends. 

“Get down!” 

His head turned in the direction of the voice to see Derek barreling towards him, blue, wolf eyes shining bright, frost clinging to his beard and eyelashes. Clearly, the pixies had blasted him with cold air. Now, he spouted threats at them. Things like, ’ _ maybe if I rip out a throat with my teeth, the brats will think twice about invading our town! _ ’ echoed in the dark. 

Stiles followed Derek’s gaze to a couple of pixies, larger than the rest, whose blue lips had curled back in a pair of matching grimaces, showcasing their pointed teeth. Who knew creatures so small could look so terrifying? Really, they were like sentient, shrimpy snowflakes. Fucking irritating ones at that. 

“Shrimpy snowflakes? I’ll show you shrimpy!” The pixie held up its hands, poised to attack, when the other one pressed a palm to its chest, holding it back. 

Stiles mentally facepalmed. He had no intentions of saying that aloud. Damn the tenuous hold he had on his brain to mouth filter.

 

“Hold on, Frostbite, I have a better idea.” It leaned over and whispered in Frostbite’s ear. 

Frostbite began to giggle, and the shrill sound made Derek cover his ears in pain. “Ooh, excellent idea, Blizzard. Teach them some manners, that even small things have value.” 

Stiles had no time to duck before Derek leapt over him and put his broad body between Stiles and the pixies. 

A whooshing, frigid wind swirled around them both and blocked all noises except the rushing air. A stinging sensation erupted from the center of his chest, and the blood in his veins grew frigid. Suddenly dizzy, he felt his legs give out as he hit the ground hard. The last thing he saw before his vision tunneled out and he lost consciousness were Derek’s knees buckling and him crashing to the forest floor. 

 

***

 

Groggy and his head pounding, Stiles’ eyes fluttered open. It was dark now. Dark and cold. Using his sweatshirt’s sleeve that was too long and curled over his fingertips, he rubbed at his nose, runny from the cold. 

Someone shouted in the distance. At least he thought it was far away, because everything, even the sound of his own breathing, sounded the way it did when he went swimming. Everything sounded funny when you heard it underwater. He groaned and pushed himself off the ground, sitting back on his heels to look around. Clouds covered the moon, and the pitch black made seeing anything tricky. 

Where was his flashlight? 

“Scott,” he croaked in a voice high and whiny as he shivered. Why was it so cold outside? 

A few feet ahead of him, he thought he could see Scott, lying still on the ground. He scrambled over to him, giving his body a gentle shake. 

“Wake up. You gotta. It’s dark out here.” 

His friend stirred, rolling onto his back. It was then that Stiles noticed something different about Scott. This kid… wasn’t Scott. With his balled up fist, tiny balled up fist, the boy rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Who’re you?” 

“You first! There’s all kinds of scary things in these woods.” 

“Yeah,” the boy said, “like werewolves.” 

“Werewolves aren’t real, silly.” 

 

***

 

Derek stared at the mysterious kid. Though he didn’t know him, everything in Derek, all his special werewolf senses told him he could trust this kid with his greatest secret. Something odd, like a tightening string pulled between them. It felt like he’d known this boy for years, but Derek was sure he’d never seen him before. Even for a born werewolf like himself, the feeling was strange, and he wondered why that was. 

He’d have to ask Mama when he saw her if this is what she meant by mates. She had to be here somewhere; she’d never let Derek and Laura stay outside after dark without a grown up watching them.  _ These woods made great hiding places for hunters _ , he’d once heard her say.Before he said anything, Derek stared at the boy. 

He sure was pretty. If Laura were here, she’d say boys couldn’t be pretty. They were handsome, not pretty. But obviously, she was wrong, because this boy was very pretty. For a moment, Derek thought that perhaps he was a baby deer—what had Mama called them? Prawns? No, fawns. That was it—because he had little spots on his face like a baby deer did, and if werewolves were real, then surely there could be other magical creatures. Somewhere in his mind, the name ’Stiles’ kept playing over and over, growing louder when he looked at the boy. “Stiles?” Derek asked, a tentative timbre in his voice. 

He watched as the boy’s eyes grew wide, and the kid skittered backwards in fright. “H-h-how did you know my name?” His voice was quiet, and though Derek was not in full control of his wolf senses yet—he was only six after all—he could smell how afraid Stiles was. 

“I don’t know. But you’re wrong.” 

“A-about what?” he stammered, the scent of fear still heavy in the air between them. 

Derek leaned forward so that he and Stiles were merely inches apart and whispered, “Werewolves. They  _ are _ real.” He pulled back and flashed his eyes at Stiles for only a quick second. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you, but you gotta keep it a secret. I’m Derek.” 

“Wow,” Stiles gasped. “Blue’s my favorite color.” 

Derek’s brows furrowed together in the dark. “What? My eyes aren’t blue. They’re gold.” 

“No. They were blue.” 

Stiles searched in the sweatshirt he was swimming in. “I gotta have a flashlight in here somewhere. Daddy always said to take a flashlight when I gotta go potty at night when we’re camping.” 

“You’re camping?” 

“Duh! Why else would I be out in the woods at night? He and Mommy are probably in the tent around here somewhere.” Stiles kept looking until he pulled something from the pocket of his hoodie. He looked down at it, confused etched in his features. 

“What is that?” 

“Dunno. Looks like a sweet Game Boy. Scotty’s got an Advance, and it doesn’t look nearly as cool as this one.” Suddenly, the screen lit up, and Stiles stared at it in shock. 

“What?” 

“That’s Daddy and that’s my house, Mommy’s Jeep…but I don’t know who this guy is. He looks like my mommy. Weird.” 

Derek peered over his shoulder. “He kinda looks like you.” 

When Stiles’ fingers jabbed at the screen, Derek tried hard not to laugh in his confusion. “There’s no buttons. What am I-” Stiles must have done something right, because the strange computer’s screen changed. “I think this is a phone.” He pressed a spot on the screen that looked like a camera and showed it to him. “Lemme take your picture and show you.” 

“You can’t. My eyes don’t work good in pictures. Mama calls it ’Lint fair’ or something.” However, when Derek took the phone from him, the screen was only black. Frustrated, he felt his control slip. As soon as he saw the glowing blue eyes in the dark screen, he began to cry. 

He wanted his mama. Stiles crawled over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and petting his hair. “No, don’t cry. Blue’s pretty.” 

“But-but-but… I haven’t hurt nobody. I’m only six. Little kids can’t kill anybody. Why are they blue?” 

“Derek, I don’t understand. Blue eyes are bad for werewolves?” 

“Uh huh. Uncle Peter says it happens when you kill someone. Not like a bad guy, but a good guy. Like killing Batman.” He turned his face into Stiles’ shoulder and began to sob. 

 

***

 

“Stiles! Derek!” Scott hadn’t seen either of them since he watched Derek chase a couple pixies they’d managed to separate from their pack (group? Band?). Seriously, what the hell were a group of pixies called? They’d researched all week and came up with something like fifty different answers. Stiles was quite fond of referring to them as a pester of pixies. Seemed fitting. 

He trained his ears on the sounds of the preserve, separating his packmates’ calls and their heartbeats, as he listened for either Stiles or Derek. Off in the distance, he heard a pair of hearts beating rapidly, too fast to be Stiles’ unless he was in extreme duress, and definitely too fast for Derek’s. The man was a pillar of control when it came to his heart rate. Even running in a high stress situation, Scott had only counted it around 120 beats per minute. 

Probably a couple of cats. 

Yet, as he searched, the more worried they became, until Scott picked out the muffled sound of a crying child. Those heartbeats must have belonged to them. Terrified that the children had been hurt in the pack’s skirmish with the pixies, Scott rushed in their direction. The rest of the pack was hot on his heels. 

They all came crashing to a stop when the beam of Lydia’s flashlight fell on them. 

One of the children looked up and gasped, “Scotty, when did you get so old?” 

Not again. Not the fuck again. First, Derek got himself zapped back to age fifteen, and now, Scott found himself staring at what he guessed were the eight year old forms of his best friend and sort of friend (he was working on it. He and Derek would be friends eventually. Mark his words). Carefully, he knelt down, surprised to find that it was Derek crying, not Stiles like he’d thought when first he found them. “Hey there, buddy. I’m not old. You’re young.” 

“Nuh uh. I’m six. I’m not old.  _ You’re _ super duper old. I bet you’re older than a teenager now. Hey, Scotty, this is my new friend, Derek. He can’t find his mommy.” 

Oh dear. 

When Scott tried to coax Derek’s face towards him from where it was buried in Stiles’ shoulder, he only clung to Stiles harder. “Derek, I need you to look at me. Are you okay?” 

“He’s sad his eyes are blue, but I told him. I told him, Scotty. I said blue is pretty, s’my favorite color, and it wouldn’t be my favorite if it was ugly. But he says were-” Stiles stopped and slammed his hand over his mouth as though he was about to say something he shouldn’t. “They’re supposed to be a different color. He says blue’s bad.” 

Scott glanced over to Lydia who he could tell was thinking the same thing. If Derek not only didn’t remember his eyes were blue, but  _ why _ they were blue, then he probably didn’t know about his family. That meant Stiles didn’t know about his mother. Shit. “Hey, Derek. I know you’re sad, but I’m like you. Liam here, he’s like you, too.” 

That did the trick… sort of. Instead of keeping his face hidden in Stiles’ neck, Derek eyed them with suspicion as he sniffed the air, no doubt realizing other werewolves were present. “Why are you in our space? Mama says you can’t be here. Not unless she said so.” There was no way he was telling a six year old his entire family was dead, missing, or otherwise- Did Derek even know about Cora yet? Was she even born when he was six years old? Who knew?  _ He _ didn’t even know how old Derek was, let alone when Cora was born. 

“Aww, they’re so cute,” Kira said. 

“I know. We’ll have to tease Derek about his lisp when we get him back to his grumpy old self,” Lydia sassed, but Scott knew she was just trying to ease the tension. 

“Your family is away for a while. Your mom and dad had to go on a special trip for werewolves. I take care of the territory that touches your family’s land.” He flashed his Alpha eyes at him and hoped to God his heart rate stayed as steady as he thought it had, that or Derek didn’t know how to use heart rates as lie detectors yet. 

“You…you’re an alpha like Mama?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Where’s Laura? She’s nine.” 

“Your mom, needed her help.” 

“Cause she’s gonna be the alpha one day, too?” 

Yeah, that was totally it. Not trusting his heartbeat to stay steady this time he simply nodded. God, how the hell was he going to explain this to Stiles’ dad? 


	2. Chapter 2

A sharp knock on the front door snapped John’s attention from where he sat at the kitchen table. A stack of case files surrounding a recent string of robberies had held his attention for the last three hours. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, but whoever it was on the other side of the door kept rapping. “I’m coming; I’m coming.” 

Taking his sweet time, he grumbled under his breath all the way to the door. He wasn’t sure who he was expecting, but seeing Scott standing there, holding a dark haired child whose face lie buried in Scott’s neck and clutching the hand of another equally young boy was not it. 

The boy holding Scott’s hand, dug through his Happy Meal box with his other hand and hadn’t even noticed the door opening. “Scottyyyyy,” he whined, drawing out the last letter in his name, “they forgot my toy. They said I was gonna get a Pokemon toy, but they forgot, and we gotta go back, because I need a Vulpix so I can get all of ’em, and I already got like fifty.” 

“Oh…” John was at a loss for words. 

At the sound of his confused grunt, both children looked at him. Before he could react, he found himself almost bowled over when the child crashed into his legs. 

“Daddy! Daddy, Daddy! Guess what! Scotty’s old! Super old! Oh-oh, and I got a bajillion French fries, and I laughed so hard my milk came out my nose! It was gross, so gross. It was awesome. And guess what, guess what, guess what!” Stiles, a five year old Stiles at that, jumped up and down with excitement. The French fries he hadn’t eaten yet, flew out of the Happy Meal box. “I got a new friend named Derek. Scotty said he gets to stay here, and we can have the most awesomest sleepover ever! And oh, I can show him my cool bath toys, and we can have a bath with sooooo many bubbles. I can show him how I make the best bubble beards, better than even you, and your bubble beards are super cool! And then we can play hide and seek, ’cause I bet Derek’s the awesomest. You said so!” 

“Scott,” John aimed for his most stern and paternal voice, but he was fairly sure all he managed was to sound exasperated, “why are Stiles and Derek five years old again?” 

“Six,” both Stiles and Derek said in unison. It was creepy, damn creepy. 

“Short answer, pixies. Long answer…we don’t really know. We found them this way after chasing those ice pixies into the preserve. Um, but really important, they…don’t remember anything from before. He had no idea who Liam, Kira or even Derek were. But don’t worry,” Scott sent a telling look his way, one that said ’ _ Just play along with what I say next _ ,’ “ I let Derek know that you are are watching him while his family is away on pack business. I didn’t know exactly where Stiles’ mom was, but I assumed it was a conference of sorts.” 

Oh boy. Lord give him strength so that he didn’t accidentally spill the secret that not only was Claudia dead but Derek’s entire family except Peter and Cora. That was one problem he didn’t think he’d be able to deal with. 

A car pulled up in his driveway, and Lydia exited, grabbing several bags from her trunk. She walked inside the house and set the box down. “Here you go, Scott.” 

“Lydia, what is all this?” Scott asked as he pulled several new outfits from the Macy’s bags. “I said you could just hit up a Goodwill.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. “No one wants to wear secondhand underwear, Scott. I only felt like making one stop. This should do it. I gotta get home though. I have to help my mom with a bake sale for the high school in the morning.” 

She left as fast as she’d come, and John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go over this one more time, Scott. Why- no, what am I supposed to do with them? I don’t have any toys. How long is this spell supposed to last?” he asked as Stiles decided to challenge an equally young Derek Hale to a couch jumping contest. 

“Watch me, Daddy.” 

“Just a minute, Stiles. The grown-ups are talking.” 

“Scotty’s not a grown-up. He’s just old. Hey, Scotty?” 

“Yeah?” John knew that exasperated groan well enough. He’d perfected it over the years and wondered when Scott had acquired the skill.Probably from Stiles no doubt. 

“Does my dad know about the…you know…your cool powers?” 

Scott nodded. 

“Daddy, isn’t it cool that Scotty is a werewolf? Oh did you know? My new friend Derek’s one too. Isn’t that awesome? It’s just the coolest.” 

That seemed to be the end of that subject, because Stiles went back to jumping on the couch. John cringed as he watched him climb onto the back of the couch. He could only guess what came next. Hopefully, this time it wouldn’t end with a broken arm.  He didn’t want to try and come up with a cover story about who Stiles was. 

“Derek, I bet I can jump farther than you can!” 

Derek, who had been abstaining from the activities, looked up. “Nuh-uh. I’m the best jumper in my family. Better than Laura, jus’ ask my Mama.  Don’t ask Peter. He’s a big fat liar.” 

“Liar, liar pants on fire?” Stiles asked as he balanced on the back of the couch again. 

“Totally,” Derek said with a wink and climbed to stand next to Stiles. 

From corner of his eye, John watched Scott move within range to catch Stiles should he look like he might fall. He knew there was a reason healways liked Scott. 

“On three!” 

“No cheating!” 

Stiles stared at Derek, eyes wide with offense. “You take that back! I’m not a cheater!” 

“Sorry,” Derek grumbled. 

Just like that, the scowl disappeared from Stiles’ face,  and John missed the days when his son had been so quick to forgive, even quicker to trust. Not only did he miss it, it made his heart ache at the way Stiles had changed. He knew he was partly to blame for that. 

“One… two… three!” 

A small crash rang out when they both landed and skidded into the hall table. John held his breath as he waited for the inevitable crying. However the whimpering that came next was not from Stiles, but Derek. 

“Ouchie.” 

Stiles crawled over to where Derek sat, clutching his knee, skin torn open and bleeding a little. “Gross. Hold on. Mommy keeps Batman band aids in the cabinet. They are magic.” 

Derek wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “’’s okay. I’ll be fine in a minute.” 

As Derek’s skin knit itself back together and the wound closed up, John watched Stiles’ eyes bug out of his head. “That’s so cool!  Scotty, can you do that too?” 

“Yeah, little buddy. I can.” 

“What about Lydia, Liam, and Kira do they got superpowers too?” 

Scott scratched his brow. “Yeah. Lydia can’t do what Derek did, but she knows when someone is gonna die, and she can scream really loud.” 

“Like Siryn in X-Men?” 

“Yep.” 

“Neat. And what about me?  What’s my super cool magic power?” 

“Um… ” 

_ Damn it,  McCall. Hell of a time to struggle for words _ . When Stiles’ lip began to tremble, he braced himself for loud wailing. 

“I’m not special like you guys? Can you make me a werewolf like you?  Derek told me how it works.” 

“No.  You don’t want it.” 

“Yes, I do!  I don’t wanna be Robin! I wanna be Batman! I wanna be special too! It’s not fair!” 

“Stiles-” 

“No, it’s stupid!  You’re stupid!  Leave me alone!” Stiles sobbed as ran up the stairs, stumbling on a few steps. 

John looked at Scott, about to speak but Derek got there first. 

“You shoulda told him he was brave. That’s what my mama says to my brother. He’s not a werewolf like the rest of us.” 

Derek hurried after Stiles, leaving John and Scott standing alone in the living room. He’d forgotten all about Devon Hale who had been fourteen at the time of the fire. 

“How do we change them back?” he asked pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Dunno. We’re going to see Deaton in the morning.” 

 

***

  
  


“You’re special,” Derek said, sitting down next Stiles on the bed. “Just ’cause you’re not a werewolf, it doesn’t mean you’re not special. I was scared before, and you made me feel better. Plus, you weren’t scared. That means you’re special.” 

Stiles rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Thanks.” 

Now that he could see him better, Derek thought that, with his large, brown eyes and pale freckles, Stiles was definitely a fawn. He always liked how cute they were and wanted to cuddle them, see if they were as soft as they looked, but Mama said they shouldn’t bother them, because deer were afraid of werewolves. 

“Hey, Derek. I got a question.” 

“Okay.” 

“You think Scotty and my daddy were lying?” Stiles stretched out onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. Stiles’ ceiling wasn’t as cool as his was. Derek had lots of glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. This one was boring. 

“Lying ’bout what?” he asked, lying down next to him. 

“Where our mommies are.” 

“I dunno. Why would they do that?” 

“Maybe,” Stiles said, sitting up so quickly he almost fell off the bed, “they all went somewhere fun without us. Fun like Disneyland!” 

He frowned. “No, my mama wouldn’t go to Disneyland without me. Not if she took Laura too. I’ve been a good boy. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

“Yeah. That would be sooooooo mean.” 

“Super mean.” When Stiles tugged on his hand, trying to pull him off the bed, Derek stared at him, confused. For one, he had no idea what Stiles wanted him to do, and two…his tummy felt funny like it did when Papa tossed him up in the air and caught him. “Whatcha doin’?” 

“Come on. Let’s go play pirates.” 

He shuffled after Stiles and into the bathroom where he found him staring at the empty bathtub. 

“Hey! Where’re all my toys?” he asked, and Derek had to cover his ears because it was too loud. 

Stiles dropped to the tile and opened the cabinet doors. “Hello! Pirate ship, are you in here? And where’s my bubble bath? I can’t take a bath without Mr. Bubble! Mommy says it helps defeat Bubblebeard. He’s the most evilest pirate in the whole world, Derek. He steals soap and sinks ships.” Stiles jumped up from the floor. “Wait here a sec.” Then, he disappeared out the bathroom door. 

Derek could hear him messing around somewhere down the hall; anyone would be able to hear him and the clattering he was making. Soon, he came back, carrying a giant bottle of purple soap. 

“I found this in Mommy’s bathroom. It says it’s bubble bath.” Stiles pushed the curtain out of the way and turned on the water. 

“Won’t you make it too hot?” 

“Nope. I watch Mommy when she makes my bath. I mesmerized where to turn the handle to. Right here. See?” 

“Mesmerized?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes at him. “Yeah, silly. When you try really hard to remember something and you don’t forget it. Like mesmerizing the ABC song. Duh.” 

He watched Stiles take the cap off the bottle and dump some into the tub, but the bottle was too heavy for him. The entire bottle fell into the bath, the remainder of the soap spilling onto the tub bottom. “Whoopsie. But that’s okay. We’ll have lots of bubbles now. Since we got no toys.” 

Stiles tugged off his clothes and Derek did the same. However, when they were both naked, Stiles stared at him. “You look different than me.” 

“Well you look different than me.” 

Stiles pointed at him. “Yeah, but your wiener looks like it’s hiding, like it’s got something stuck on it.” 

“So?” 

Stiles looked down at himself. “Mine doesn’t do that. Oh my gosh! What if there’s something wrong?” Stiles pushed past him and hurried down the stairs, yelling, “Daddy, come quick! There’s something wrong with Derek’s wiener! You gotta hurry!” 

Scared and embarrassed, Derek picked the towel up off the floor, but Stiles came back in the bathroom before he could cover himself. 

“See? Look!” 

Mr. Stilinski knelt on the floor and sighed like Papa did when Laura’s singing annoyed him. “There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just uncircumcised.” 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s…um…I… How the hell do I explain that to-” 

Stiles held a finger in front of his dad’s lips. “Shh. You’re not supposed to say that word. Mommy said so. It’s naughty. Don't worry; I won't tattle. Promise.” 

“Yes. Sorry. He just looks different because…he’s a werewolf. That’s all.” 

Stiles accepted the answer his dad gave him and hurried into the rapidly filling tub and soon disappeared into the bubbles. “Come on, Derek! It’s awesome. Look at all the bubbles. We gotta find Bubblebeard. Here, you can use this shampoo bottle for your boat. And I will use the conditioner.” 

 

***

 

John stepped back as Derek climbed into the tub and Stiles promptly splashed him. Honestly, he’d forgotten how lighthearted and cheerful his son used to be and it broke his heart. He supposed the change began when Claudia died and hadn’t stopped since. Yet, here he was, six again—an age when his mother had still been alive, laughing and playing in the bubble bath the way he’d used to with Heather. Only this time, it wasn’t Heather joining him, but Derek Hale of all people—a man he’d arrested for murder twice. However falsely accused the guy had been, John had arrested him nonetheless—who was also six again an age where he, too, still had family alive. John didn’t know what to do or how in the hell he would be able to keep up the charade. 

But for now? 

While the two kids laughed and piled bubble mountains high upon their heads, he had Scott downstairs removing any pictures of Claudia after she’d gotten sick, all pictures of Stiles older than six, all memories that could damage these two kids worse than they’d already suffered.

He could do this. If he could lie to suspects, he could lie to a pair of children. Granted, lying to Stiles was never easy. 

So, he trudged downstairs to dig through the bags of clothes Lydia had dropped off to find the boys some pajamas. Honestly, why had she bought so many things? Did they think they’d be stuck like this for long? How was he going to explain who Stiles was when he took them out in public? Derek was easy enough. The Hale’s had been private, for good reason, and he admits he hardly saw Derek as a child. Stiles though? 

He scrubbed a hand down his face. He had a cousin whose son was seven. They lived in New Jersey. If he could convince Stiles to try a nickname for a bit. That would have to do. 

From the bag, he pulled two sets of matching pj’s and stopped when it came to the underwear. Why were there three different kinds? Oh right. Lydia probably didn’t know what style either of them wore. So, he grabbed boxer shorts for Stiles and one of each kind so Derek could pick. The last bag had a couple throws, security blanket sized and two plush animals. 

Getting the pair dressed and ready for bed was far easier than he’d expected, as was telling Stiles they all needed new names. Apparently, telling him that it was for a super secret spy mission was good enough. So for the time being, Stiles now insisted his name was Bruce (thanks to Batman) and Derek was Miguel. No amount of protesting from Derek would change Stiles’ mind. John and Scott, it seemed, were doomed to be Alfred and Robin. He supposed it was fitting that his son dubbed him Alfred. The man did raise little Bruce Wayne after all. 

Stiles insisted that John read them a bedtime story, but the only thing close to children’s books that they still had in the house had been graphic novels. He’d had to skip over so much. Honestly, he had no idea those could be so inappropriate for children. If he had, he wouldn’t have started buying them for Stiles at eleven years old. 

“But, Daddy. Why can’t Derek sleep in here with me? It can be a sleepover. What if he gets scared and misses his mommy?” 

“No, Stiles.” And the way Stiles was looking at him, like he was the meanest person in the whole world, twisted something in his chest. It was also, not as though he had anything against Derek at this point. He didn’t and _ hadn’t _ ever since Derek had begun helping with supernatural cases that popped up on police radar (especially after the guy had twice been falsely accused of murder). It had, however,  _ everything _ to do with the fact he was worried about the six year old werewolf losing control while he slept and injuring Stiles. 

Not of course, that his son believed a word of it. 

“You just don’t like him because he’s my new friend! You just want me to be sad all the time.” 

Let it never be said that his son was not melodramatic. It would be a lie. Stiles had always been dramatic, to excess, even as a child. The smallest things became crises and led to arguments and sometimes angry debates. He knew now, that it was because of Stiles’ ADHD, but back when Stiles was six the first time, he and Claudia had been at their wits’ end. _ ‘Stiles, why did you knock over the glass?’ ‘Because I wanted to.’ ‘Stiles, why can’t you just sit still for a second and let me finish tying your shoes?’ ‘Cause I can’t.’  _ And so on. 

“I don’t want you to be sad. I want you to be safe.” 

Stiles glared at him with an unsatisfied roll of the eyes. Nevertheless, he gave John a hug and kiss good night anyway. Of course, he insisted that John march into the guest room and give Derek a hug and kiss good night too, and make sure he was tucked in, and that he had his plush wolf, and enough blankets, and a glass of water in a special cup in case he got thirsty. 

He followed through with every one of Stiles’ requests. 

 

***

 

Stiles rubbed his eyes, his squeaky bedroom door startling him awake. It was still dark out, and he wished he still had a night light. “Who’s there?” 

“Stiles?” Derek asked from the doorway. “I had a bad dream. Can I sleep in here with you?” 

“Sure, just don’t tell my dad.” 

He heard Derek shuffling towards him, and then the bed dipped down beside him as he crawled under the blankets. “Thanks. At my house, I share a room with Laura, ’cause I get scared sleeping in my own room.” 

“I used to be afraid of the dark, and I had this Batman night light that looked like the bat signal right there,” he pointed to a spot on the ceiling above his bed. “If I woke up from a bad dream, I used to think Batman was coming to save me.” 

“What happened to it?” 

“It broke. Mommy tried to get me a new one, but she couldn’t find it. I guess I wasn’t as afraid of the dark as I thought I was. You afraid of the dark?” 

“No.” 

A little moonlight came in through the window, enough for Stiles to see Derek staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open. “Then what is it?” 

“I just don’t like being by myself. Werewolves, we have a pack. It’s our family. Mama says we’re tact…something. I don’t remember the word, but she said it means we like hugs.” 

“My mommy gives the best hugs,” Stiles said, grinning in the dark, the blankets pulled up to his chin. 

Derek sighed. “Hey, Stiles? Do you still snuggle with your mama?” 

“Oh yeah. When we watch movies on the couch, she lets me sit in her lap sometimes.” 

“Can…can…I snuggle with you? When I’m really scared at night, Laura let’s me sleep with her in her bed.” 

“Sure.” Derek scooted over in the bed and faced him. Then, Stiles made sure to give him a hug and a kiss on his forehead. “That’s what my mommy always does when she puts me to bed. Then, she says Good Night, Zabko. That means froggie. That’s what she calls me.” He patted Derek on the shoulder. 

“Night night, Stiles.” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Unprepared, Scott entered the Stilinski house a week later and couldn’t believe his eyes. When John called and said the station had called, that they were short-staffed, and he needed a babysitter, Scott was expecting the two kids to be bickering the way they did as adults. Surely, the novelty of a new friendship would have faded after being forced to deal with the less than pleasant aspects of each other’s’ personalities. 

Yet, there, in the middle of the living room floor, were Stiles and Derek. They were relaxing on their stomachs in front of the fireplace (and yes, he saw the cruel irony of Derek basking in the warmth of a fire). All around them, lay sheets of paper and crayons. Cannibalized coloring books lay interspersed, their sheets ripped clean out. He was positive the living room walls had be free of children’s handiwork the last time he’d visited. Clearly, the two had been busy just like he had. 

For a week straight, when he wasn’t desperately trying to finish his Christmas shopping to no avail, he’d been researching with Deaton and Lydia. Since, none of them were with Stiles or Derek when the pixies hit them with magic, they really had little to go by. Usually, Deaton had said, pixie spells come with a lesson. So, if this spell, had, indeed, been similar, once Stiles and Derek learned from their mistake, they should theoretically revert to their usual selves. 

This, it proved, would be easier said than done, because when Scott had called John last night, he’d been informed (after overhearing a five minute conversation John had with Stiles and Derek that surely only a parent could understand) that neither of them could remember what happened before they were de-aged. Great, Scott had thought, just great. 

“Hi, Scotty,” Stiles said, without looking up from his drawing. 

“How did you…” 

“Cause I told him.” Derek switched his purple crayon, grabbing a baby blue one and continued to color his picture of the Hulk with great care and intensity. Honestly, Scott thought as he surveyed the living room where Derek’s pictures were easy to spot among the others, no six year old should be that good at coloring. He walked over to admire their handiwork, and Derek…could really draw. It wasn’t fair. Strangely though, Scott actually liked knowing this piece of information. Maybe, if Scott just bought him a sketchpad and a pencil set, maybe Derek might be happier. Maybe the guy needed a creative outlet. 

Then, his eyes fell on a particular drawing which appeared to have been made by both of them, with Stiles’ messy stick figure alongside Derek’s more skilled one. Two people wearing black that were holding hands and bouquets of flowers. “Hey, Stiles. What’s this one?” 

Stiles hopped off the floor and ran to Scott, tripping over his feet. When he straightened back up, he was beaming. “That’s our wedding.” 

“Our wedding?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes at him. “No, silly. Mine and Derek’s. Duh.” 

“I see, and you’re marrying each other?” 

Stiles nodded emphatically. “Uh huh. When I grow up, I’m gonna marry Derek, and we will live in a really big house, and have a dog named Rufus and a rabbit named Colonel Carrot.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Scott tried to keep his disbelief from showing on his face. It wasn’t that he didn’t think it was something Stiles wanted. No, he was positive about that. He’d been witness to Stiles’ many alcohol fueled lamentations of how desperately in love with Derek he was and how the guy wasn’t attainable. The sessions usually ended with Stiles crying and asking Scott to put him out of his misery. 

“Uh huh. And we’re gonna live happily ever after. And my mommy is gonna cry big time.” 

Before he could stop himself, he muttered under his breath, “You won’t even be together when you’re grown up.” 

“Will too,” and when the hell had Derek walked over? Honestly, he was just as stealthy as a child. Once a creeper always a creeper, he supposed. “Stiles is my one true love.” 

Oh for crying out loud! Were they both disgustingly and obliviously in love with each other? “Gotcha. Well get your shoes on and coats. We’re going shopping.” 

Stiles groaned and went looking for his shoes. Derek, however, had hung his on a hook by the  front door, his little black pea coat—really, Lydia, did they need fashionable clothes—where it should have been. 

“Scotty, I don’t like shopping. It’s sooooooooooooo boring. Mommy makes me go shopping with her, and it takes forever. By the time we’re done, you’re gonna be even older. You’ll look like Obi-wan with a beard.” 

“Obi-wan?” 

“From Star Wars, duh,” Derek said, as he tried to tie his shoes. His little tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth while he concentrated. Eventually, he succeeded. Stiles on the other hand… 

“Scotty,” Stiles called out, his voice muffled, “a little help?” 

Scott looked up to find Stiles’ head stuck in the collar of his pullover jacket. He’d neglected unzipping the neck of it and had tried pulling it  over his head. Naturally, this plan failed. Also, Stiles, it seemed, had decided to keep hold of both his shoes when he put his arms through the sleeves, and now the shoes plus his arms were also stuck. 

When Scott was young, he didn’t notice how impulsive Stiles was when it came to everyday tasks, how he wouldn’t stop to think things through. Scott didn’t know ADHD was a thing back then. He had thought Stiles was playing it all for laughs. Now though, as he watched as a casual observer, he could see how Stiles really had no control of this sort of thing. It made Scott reflect on the state of their current friendship and how Stiles, once he got something into his head, it became an all-encompassing thing. He was unable to just ’let it go’ like Scott had told him to do so many times. And didn’t that put things into perspective? 

Scott was about to kneel down and free Stiles from his outerwear prison, when Derek got in there first. 

“I’ll help, you.”  

He watched as Derek’s small fingers unzipped the collar and tugged the coat off Stiles’ head. They each began shaking the thing until the shoes fell from the sleeves. Finally, after a fit of giggles, Stiles was dressed and ready to go outside. 

“Scotty,” he whined when Scott buckled him into his booster seat, “do we gotta go shopping?” 

“Yes, I need your help picking out a present for my mom. Besides, your dad is going to meet us at the mall later for lunch. He just needed to do something at the station.” 

That seemed to do the trick and Stiles quit complaining. 

“Do you need help, Derek?” 

“What…is this?” He stared at the booster seat with disdain. 

“That’s a special seat for little kids to make sure the seat belts fit correctly.” 

“I don’t use one of those. I’m not a baby.” 

What? Though, after he took a minute to think about it, maybe Derek hadn’t ever used one. Scott remembered using one himself, but Derek was older than he was. “No one is saying you are. I just want you to be safe.” 

“But I’m a werewolf. I won’t stay hurt.” Derek squirmed, trying to keep Scott from being able to buckle him in. 

Stiles reached across the back seat and patted Derek on the arm. “You gotta stay safe so you can grow big and strong. I can’t marry you if you are hurt.” 

“Okay,” he grumbled. 

What in the hell was Scott witnessing? It was like his best friend and beta had been replaced by pod people. This listening to each other, caring when the other was worried about their well-being…that  _ never _ happened normally. Well, okay, that was not entirely true. But it was true most of the time. 

It was weird. That’s what it was. Just plain weird. 

  
  


***

 

“Lydia, can you take me and Miguel to get ice cream?” 

She rolled her eyes at their ridiculous code names. “Miguel and me,” she corrected, holding up a purple blouse. “Not right now. Remember, we’re helping Scott finish his Christmas shopping."

"But we’re bored.“ 

" _He_ doesn’t look bored.“ She took the blouse towards the registers and stood in line. That shirt needed to go home with her and live in her closet. It would look perfect with this floral miniskirt she had. 

Stiles turned around with a huff and stomped over to where Derek stood, not too far away, looking at socks with funny patterns. 

They were still close enough that she could keep an eye on them and hear what they were talking about, but not too close for them to bother her. It worked perfectly. What? She had little to no experience babysitting. She was doing her best while Scott had stepped out to return Deaton’s phone call. 

"Hey, go tell Lydia how bored you are so we can get ice cream.“ 

"My mama likes funny socks,“ and seriously that lisp of his was just about the most adorable thing she’d ever heard. ”She has this pair that Laura got her for Christmas last year. They have flying piggies on them. Maybe I should get her some.“ 

"You,“ Stiles tugged on Derek’s arm, ”don’t have,“ but Derek stood firmly in place, ”any money. Please.“ 

Lydia turned in time to see Derek grab, first, the pair of socks, and then Stiles’ hand. When they walked over, he tapped her arm. 

"Lydia, can you buy these for my mama? I will give you money from my piggy bank when I get to go to my house again. Please?“ 

She smiled down at him and took the socks, trying hard to keep the sadness out of her face. There was no way she could say no to a six year old asking to buy socks for his mother, his dead mother. ”Sure thing.“ 

"Thank you, and do you think we could get ice cream now?“ 

It was still a bit of a mind trip to hear Derek “I’m the alpha now” Hale be so polite. Yet, here they were. Trauma had evil ways of changing people. If the fire hadn’t happened, she wondered what kind of man would he be now? Would he be overtly affectionate, sweet, yet cocky? She liked to think that he would be, and it made her sad that he wasn’t. “Are you asking because you want ice cream or because Bruce does?” Really, she might as well have called him Batman. It would have been more amusing. 

“Um…because I want him to have ice cream? He’s my boyfriend, and you should want your boyfriend to be happy.” Derek’s furrowed brows were the most adorable things she’d seen in a long time. 

“He’s your boyfriend now?” 

Derek nodded. 

“Oh yes, Lydia,” Stiles said, beaming, his smile setting his face alight, “he sleeps in my room, because he’s scared of having his own room, and I hug him and give him a goodnight kiss on his forehead every night, just like Mommy gives me. I love him,” he said, exaggerating the words, “and when I’m all grown, we’re gonna get married at Disneyland. I’m gonna ask Princess Ariel for an autograph.” 

“Awww. That’s cute,” the cashier cooed over his antics. 

“Yeah, yeah. And yesterday, Lydia, yesterday we watched The Princess Bride and he said I was his Princess Buttercup.” 

“Nuh-uh. I said you were my Prince Buttercup, and I was Wesley. Then I said we should go hunt the woods for R.O.U.S’ because they’re dangerous.” He looked up at her. “That’s my favorite movie. I’ve watched it like a million times. Or a billion times. Yeah, like a million billion times.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, so please Lydia. Can we go get ice cream?” 

She took her purchase, giving Derek the smaller bag with the socks for his mom. “Okay.” 

“Can you give me the money so I can pay? TV says when you are on a date, the boy should pay.” 

“But you’re both boys. And that isn't really how it has to work you know, just because the TV says it should be.” 

“So?” 

With a sigh, she took two five dollar bills from her wallet, giving one to each. “Maybe you should each pay. It’s called going Dutch.” 

As they stood in front of the ice cream case,  more than a few people cooed over Stiles’ and Derek’s antics. Lydia could only hope that some of this easy affection the two of them showed now as small children would continue into their adult selves, whenever that happened. Both were still clueless as to what their lesson was supposed to be 

“Hey, pick me up! I can’t see what’s in the case,” Stiles said, breathless from jumping up and down several times in an attempt to read the flavor cards. 

“You’re too heavy, Batman.” 

At the nickname, he put a finger to his lips. “Shhhh. That’s my secret identity. You're not supposed to tell anyone. There could be enemies anywhere.” 

Derek pushed a chair towards the case, climbed up, and began to read off the flavors until he called out chocolate peanut butter. 

“That’s my favorite!” 

“Mine too.” 

“See, Lydia. I told you. If you have the same favorite flavor ice cream as someone else, you gotta marry them. It’s like a rule.” 

As promised, Lydia stood off to the side while they waited for the cashier to get their ice cream. 

“They’re cute. Either of them yours?” She turned her head to see a woman about her mother’s age waiting for her milkshake to finish blending. 

“No. I’m babysitting for a family friend. They’re his cousin and best friend, well boyfriend apparently.” 

“My son was the same way when he was younger. Tell your friend, not to worry. At this age, it’s more innocent than anything else. It doesn’t mean either of them is actually gay.” 

Lydia put on her best fake smile. Though she was pretty sure the woman meant well, she didn’t appreciate the words. She wanted to ask, ’So what if they are?’ but didn’t have the chance, because Stiles came over carrying his ice cream cone and tugged on her sleeve. 

“Lydia?” He beckoned her down to his level and whispered, “what does gay mean?” 

She turned her head so she could whisper her six-year-old-appropriate explanation back. “It’s when if you’re a boy who likes boys. You know, like to have boyfriends? Or you’re a girl likes girls. Do you understand?” 

He nodded. “And what’s it mean if you like boys and girls? But I'm not gonna have any girlfriends, cause I’m gonna marry Derek.” 

“It’s called Bi.” 

“Ah,” he said and turned to the woman, “I’m not gay. I’m bi. Have a nice day, ma’am.” He grabbed Derek’s hand and they walked with intertwined fingers to a nearby table. 

Lydia shrugged and joined them. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor description of panic attack in second scene

“I know they’re up there, Derek. Mommy doesn’t think I know she hides the cookies up on the top shelf.” 

Derek looked down at Stiles, who was making sure the chair he currently stood upon did not tip over. “I don’t see anything up here but grown up cereal. My papa says this stuff is good for your heart. I think it tastes like Play-Doh.” 

“Ewww, you eat Play-Doh. That’s gross.” 

Derek grunted as he stretched his arm as far as he could. “Laura dared me to do it.” Finally, he managed to move the box of cereal only to find more boxes behind it. “There’s no cookies.” 

He jumped down off the chair, landing next to a sulking Stiles. 

“They musta ate them all. Not fair. Grown ups get to have so much fun. They can stay up late, eat whatever they want. Just you wait, Derek. One day, we’re gonna be grown up, and then it will be fun.” 

“Yeah.” He looked over at the countertop to find a book sitting up against the fridge. If he stood on his tiptoes he could reach it. Once he had it in his hands, he read the cover. “Hey, what if we made our own cookies?” 

“I never made cookies before. Not without Mommy’s help.” 

“Yeah, but I’ve helped my mama make them loads of times. You just gotta follow the instructions.” He flipped through some of the pages. “Look. Chocolate chip cookies. It says we need flour.” 

“Well we gotta be quiet and not wake up my daddy.” 

Derek could hear him snoring on the living room couch, the sound of a basketball game coming from the TV. “Okay. And sugar, eggs and butter.” 

Stiles opened the fridge and pointed to the top shelf. “They’re up there.” 

After they managed to find all the supplies, they struggled with the oven. “It says 375,” Derek read aloud. 

“Well that takes forever. We’ll be old by then.  Do you think if we make it hotter they’ll cook faster?” 

Derek nodded emphatically. “Totally.” He watched Stiles set the oven as high as it would go. 

“That should do it..” 

He continued to read the instructions to Stiles, who added all the ingredients into the bowl. “Now it says you need two cups flour.” 

Stiles filled the tall orange cup from the cabinet to the top with flour twice and dumped it into the bowl. “It’s too tricky to stir. Mommy has a special machine, but I don’t know where she keeps it.” 

“Here, I can help.” Derek took the spoon and did his best to mix the batter. It didn’t look the way he remembered Mama’s cookie dough looked. “I think we messed up.” 

“No, that just means they’ll taste extra delicious.” 

He shrugged; Stiles was probably right. 

“I want giant cookies,” Stiles said, grabbing handfuls of dough and putting them on the sheet. Once the sheet was filled with as many cookies as they could fit, he turned to Derek. “Can I have your help?” 

Derek grabbed the tray and slid it into the oven, but when he was pulling his hand out, he caught it on the rack and burned himself. 

“No, don’t cry.” Stiles grabbed his other hand and closed the door to the oven. “Come on. There’s this green slime in the closet that Mommy uses on me when I get sunburn. It’s gotta be the same thing right?” 

He sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Ouchie. It really hurts.” 

“But you’ll be better in a little bit won’t you?” 

“No, werewolves don’t get better right away when you get burned. Papa had a burn on his hand from the Baby-cue—you know the thing outside you cook hamburgers on—for a week.” 

They trudged up the stairs, where Stiles put the lid down on the toilet for Derek to sit. “I’ll be right back.” 

Still crying, Derek tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, but they kept falling. He missed Mama. Her kisses always made his owies feel better. When was she gonna come back? Did they forget about him? Didn’t they want him anymore? 

With those thoughts, he started crying harder, and when Stiles came back a little while later covered in lotion and toothpaste, he wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. 

“I had an accident. The slime was on the shelf above my head. I made a mess. But here, this is the goo. You just put it on your hand and it will feel better.” 

Derek read the label. “Al-o-ee? That’s a weird word.” 

“I know. S’why I just call it slime.” With careful fingers, he squeezed a glob of it onto Derek’s hand and rubbed it in. “See? Doesn’t that make it feel better?” 

He sniffled. “A little.” 

Stiles gave him a hug and before he could do anything else, the house filled with a shrill noise. It made him cover his ears and curl up into a tiny ball. The beeping was so loud; it hurt his ears. 

Then, the smell of smoke wafted up the stairs, and though he was brave—Mama always told him he was—he froze. Even with Stiles tugging on his arm, Derek wouldn’t budge. 

“Come on. You gotta. I’ve practiced this with Daddy and Mommy. When there’s a fire, we have a meeting place across the street.” 

Derek shook his head. Tears streamed down his face. The sound of Stiles’ dad shouting from downstairs only exacerbated his fear. 

The back door opened and quickly shut again. It was hard for him to differentiate the sounds, but he heard something clatter on the deck. A few moments later, the scary noise stopped. 

Even though the house was quiet again, he couldn’t move. 

“Stiles! Can you and Derek come down here please?” 

“I can’t, Daddy. There is something wrong with Derek.” 

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs almost brought him around…almost. 

 

*** 

 

There was nothing like the sound of a smoke alarm waking you from an impromptu nap. In all hindsight, John realized, he really shouldn’t have been napping in the first place, but he’d had a rough shift. It just took the wind right out of his sails. 

So, when he smelled smoke and sussed out that the source was the oven, he was not happy at all. Sure, it had been many years since Stiles had actually been a young child. However, his son seemed to remember most things that had happened to him around age six. So he should have known better than to use the oven without supervision. 

 

He had pulled the sheet pan out of the oven and tossed it, and its smoking, black contents outside as quickly as he could. Relieved to find no actual fire, he turned off the oven (and 600° plus broil? Really, Stiles? Honestly, he hadn't even known their oven could get that hot). 

Through the floor, he heard the sound of shuffling upstairs, and he craned his head towards the ceiling. “Stiles! Can you and Derek come down here please?” 

“I can’t, Daddy. There is something wrong with Derek.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. He was too old for this shit. When Stiles had clued him into the supernatural dealings in town, he honestly never thought he would be the parent (however temporary) of not one but two six year olds at once, let alone have his own son, his twenty-two year old son, magically be one of those six year olds. That Derek Hale was the other child was just icing on the proverbial cake. 

So, he’d indulged them. Let them take their messy bubble baths each night. He’d insisted they sleep in separate rooms that first night, but abandoned that rule when he found them both in Stiles’ bed clinging to each other like security blankets the following morning. He’d gone outand bought more crayons, coloring books, and drawing paper than he’d ever needed to buy before- all at Stiles’ behest. Back when Stiles was younger, well the first time around, he hated coloring, had told his parents it was boring. 

So to have him acquire a sudden obsession with it, was weird to say the least. Derek, on the other hand, seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. John didn’t know much about him, outside of what he knew about Derek’s family and the whole werewolf thing. He wondered if the artistic talent the man had clearly shown as a young child continued into adulthood or if he’d simply given it up along with most other things he’d once taken joy in. It was a sad thought. 

He scrubbed a hand down his face and prepared to climb the stairs and see what the problem was, and to also give a stern talking to with his son. It was hard not to look at the multitude of drawings that lined the walls on his way through the dining room. 

Though he’d known that Stiles liked Derek as more than a friend for a few years now, maybe even loved him, it was still shocking to see those feelings reciprocated on paper. He couldn’t tell you how many pictures of the two boys holding hands with hearts dancing around their heads, now adorned his living room. In all honesty, it would be adorable if he wasn’t damn near positive that once they reversed the spell, they would return to being oblivious about their mutual affection. 

Well, now that would just not do. If he had to play matchmaker to get the two of them together, he was prepared to do it. He wanted to see his son happy, and someone should show Derek the same parental concern. 

The sight that greeted him in the bathroom was one that he’d become familiar with over the years. By now, he recognized a panic attack when he saw one. Gently, he moved Stiles out of the way, which was no easy feat given the way Stiles was clinging to Derek’s shirt. He knelt down in front of Derek and tried to pull his hands away from his ears. 

“Derek, son, what’s wrong.” 

Derek’s shoulders shook as he sobbed, face buried in his knees. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the smoke alarm probably terrified him, his heightened hearing and sense of smell overloaded. However, a particularly troubling thought niggled at his mind. Perhaps, this was not the simple reaction of a scared child, but triggered by Derek’s (adult Derek’s) own trauma. 

Sure, they’d forgotten everything they’d experienced past the age of six, but could this be his mind responding to the stimuli in a way that was now familiar. Though he’d never asked, felt it was not his place to pry, he wondered if Derek might have PTSD. He’d seen the way the young man had chosen to live before purchasing his loft. 

The burned out shell of his family home was no place to live, and certainly not a place to live if one wanted to ever heal. An abandoned train station wasn’t much better. 

“It was just the smoke alarm. You boys are too young to use the stove by yourselves.” 

“We wanted to make cookies.” 

He held Stiles by the shoulders so he could look him in the eye. “Then you should have asked me for help. It’s dangerous.” 

Stiles looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry. We just wanted to be like grown ups.” 

“There will be time for that later. For now, just enjoy being children.” 

Somehow, he managed to coax Derek from the little cave he’d made in his curled up form and took them both, each boy holding one hand, downstairs and into the kitchen. He gave Derek a cup of milk to calm him down. Then, he looked over the recipe, making sure that enough of each ingredient remained. “So, about those cookies.” 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

“Scotty, why are we here?” Stiles looked around the inside of the animal clinic. He hadn’t been inside before.

“I need to talk to Dr. Deaton about something.”

Stiles walked his fingers along the countertop. “Do you work here now that you’re a grown up?”

“No. I used to.”

“Good afternoon, Scott,” a man said, walking into the lobby. “I assume you’re here about that piece of information I found last night?”

“I know you. I’ve seen you at my house before. You’re my mama’s friend,” Derek said to the man.

“That’s right. I’m Dr. Deaton. Say, would you both like to play with the dogs?”

Stiles’ face lit up. “Awesome! I love puppies. Daddy sometimes lets me play with the police dogs.” He reached down and grabbed Derek’s hand as they followed Scott and Dr. Deaton into the back.

Dr. Deaton opened a few kennels and led the dogs into another room, this one had toys for the animals to play with and comfy chairs. “You two can play with these three while Scott and I talk.”

Derek crossed an arm over his chest and rubbed his upper arm. “Where are their families?”

“They don’t have one. These three are up for adoption. These two were strays,” he said pointing to a white dog and a spotted dog with a mangled ear. “That one was a runt of a litter and no one wanted to adopt him, because he wouldn’t be good for hunting. Too small.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice small and broken.

As the door shut behind them, shut but didn’t latch completely, Stiles sat down next to the runt, a brown puppy with long floppy ears and a wrinkly face. “Aww, he’s so cute. Look at his ears, Derek! They’re so big and soft.” He lay down on the floor, and the puppy flopped down on top of him where it began to lick his face. Stiles broke out into a fit of giggles. “You’re such a silly puppy.” He rubbed the fur between the dog’s ears. “I’m gonna call you Cocoa Puff.”

“I don’t like it in here. It smells funny.”

“Come on, Derek. Pet Cocoa Puff, and you’ll feel much better.”

Derek sighed but sat down next to him, but soon, his frown faded away when the dog put its head in his lap. “Yeah, he’s pretty nice.”

The other two dogs didn’t seem to care much about them, only coming by to sniff at them a few times. The bone and tennis ball in the corner were far more interesting.

“That one,” Stiles pointed to the fluffy, white dog, “that’s Frosted Flake. And that puppy is Cap’n Crunch.”

Derek giggled. “Those are silly names for dogs. They’re cereal.”

“Yeah... yummy cereals.” They took turns playing with Cocoa Puff and a chew toy he was gnawing on. They wrestled, let the puppy climb all over them. Even Derek couldn’t resist puppy kisses.

However, Derek stood up and walked over to the door.

“What?”

“Shh. I’m listening.”

  


***

 

Derek peered through the crack in the door. Here, he could hear them better. He may have been a werewolf, but puppies were noisy. Scott’s and Dr. Deaton’s voices carried down the hall.

“What are we supposed to do? They still don’t remember what the pixies said to them. So how are they going to learn their lesson, if they don’t know what they did?” Scott asked, and he sounded the way Laura did whenever Mama told her to clean her room. What was that word? Irrigated? Something like that.

“I’ve been researching, and I think I have a spell that can reverse this, but it’s ingredients are rare. It will take some time to acquire them all.”

Scott groaned. Yep, definitely irrigated. “I don’t know how long the rest of us can keep this up. Do you have any idea how hard it is to lie to them?”

“I am aware how difficult it is to lie to a werewolf, Scott.”

Derek scrunched his face up in confusion. He hadn’t heard them lie, but then again, his mama had only just started teaching him about listening to heartbeats and smelling people’s feelings.

“I didn’t mean Derek. I meant Stiles. He’s just as suspicious as a kid. I’m worried one of us is gonna screw up and let it slip. How are we supposed to deal with that? ’I’m sorry your mom is dead, Stiles. Sorry that your whole family is dead, Derek, except your little sister who wasn’t even born yet when you were this little?”

Like the door jamb had burned him, Derek jumped back in shock. No, they were lying. His mama was just fine. Laura was fine. They were on a trip. Stiles’ mama was fine too… they had to be.

“What?” Stiles whispered. He’d zipped up Cocoa Puff up in his sweatshirt, and the puppy was fast asleep.

“They’re liars. Big fat liars.”

“Bigger than Peter? About what?”

Derek nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. “I want to go home.”

“I can call Daddy. I know my phone number.”

“No. I want to go to my home. I want to see Mama.”

“Okay. Can I come too?”

“Yeah. You can come anywhere I go. I can’t leave my one true love behind.”

With a little smile, Stiles grabbed his hand and quietly lead him down the long hallway to the back door. There, they slipped outside unnoticed. They were far from town, but Derek knew exactly where they were.

“They lied to us Stiles.” By now, Derek had begun crying. As they made their way through the woods he knew well, he let the tears fall freely.

“About?”

“Our mama’s. They’re not on a trip.”

Stiles stumbled over a rock, but Derek caught him before he could fall. “Sure they are. My daddy doesn’t lie to me.”

“But he did!” He sat down on a log and sobbed. “They’re in heaven. I heard Scott say so. He said your mommy is dead and my whole family. Everyone…even Laura,” with that, he began crying harder.

Stiles shoved at his shoulder. “You take that back! Mommy is not in heaven!”

“She is. I promise.”

“You’re lying!”

“No! You don’t lie to your true love.”

Stiles glared at him and took off running deeper into the woods, Cocoa Puff held tightly against his chest.

“Wait! You don’t know where you’re going!”

Though Stiles had a headstart, Derek was a werewolf. So, naturally, he caught up to him in no time and spun him around. “I swear, pinky double swear, that I am telling the truth! You gotta believe me! The grown ups. They’re the liars.”

Stiles was crying just as hard as he was. “Liars liars pants on fire?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Big fat, super duper liars with pants on fire.”

Stiles collapsed onto the ground in a heap and Derek wrapped his arms around him. Together they cried for what felt like hours before Derek’s stomach groaned.

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”

“Come on,” Derek said, pulling Stiles to his feet, “my house is not far from here. Do you want me to carry Cocoa Puff?”

“No, I got him.”

Hand in hand, they trekked through the woods. Stiles complained about his feet hurting a few times, and Derek’s were starting to hurt too. Then, when they reached the part where the trees were the thickest, he turned to Stiles. “It’s not too much farther. Just over this little hill.”

They scrambled up the hill, fallen leaves making their climb difficult.

“See, it’s just right-” Derek stopped and stared at his house in horror. “What- What happened to my-” another sob broke out from his throat, and he started running towards it.

He admitted that a small part of him clung to the hope that Scott had been wrong. That his family was just fine, but it was true. It was all true.

His cry of pain echoed through the preserve.

 

***

 

“What do you mean you ’lost them’?”

Scott flinched at John’s bellowing words. “We were at Deaton’s. Stiles and Derek were playing with the puppies up for adoption. I went to talk with Deaton, and when I got back in the room, they were gone. Took one of the puppies with them too.”

His heart hammering in his chest, John rubbed his chin in an attempt to keep calm. It didn’t work. “And you have no idea where they went?” That sounded like a load of rubbish. Scott was a werewolf, damn it, an alpha at that. He should be able to track two children and a puppy.

“I tried tracking them, but since they’d been playing with the puppies, their scents were masked.”

“Did you try tracking the puppy?”

Scott threw his hands up in frustration. “Yes! I even brought Liam along. I thought they couldn’t have gotten far, because it was only like fifteen minutes tops, but if they were running…”

“Scott, they’re six years old! It’s December, and the sun is setting. The low tonight is twenty-eight. They’re going to get hypothermia!” He grabbed his phone, about to put out an APB when he noticed Scott listening intently to something outside. “What is it?”

“I think I just heard a howl.”

Scott ran outside, the back door swinging shut just as another howl carried in the wind.

“I heard it too,” he said, hurrying out back to stand beside him. “That sounded like a puppy.”

Scott nodded. “It was. I’m pretty sure that was Derek. I mean, I can’t be positive, but it sounded like a wolf pup.”

John put his hand on his shoulder and turned Scott to face him. “What were you talking about with Deaton?”

“He thinks there’s a spell to turn them back to their correct ages, but it will take time. He also is working on a spell to get the to remember what the pixies told them. Oh…” Scott stopped; his brows drew together in concern.

“What?”

“I think Derek might have heard me tell Deaton how hard it’s been lying to them about their moms, about Derek’s family.”

John’s face fell. “Aw hell.” He went back inside and put on his coat. “I think I know where they went.”

Within moments, he and Scott found themselves speeding towards the preserve. He prayed his hunch would prove correct. So, this spell to make them remember, what does it entail? Is it risky for them?“

Scott managed to shrink down in his seat even farther. ”Yeah. I told him that I didn’t think it was a good idea. The one to age them back isn’t all that safe either, at least not for as young as they are.“

”It’s not. Look, I know it’s been difficult, but if they don’t remember what lesson they’re supposed to learn, and the spells Deaton has aren’t safe for them, it’s fine. I raised Stiles once, and maybe the second time I won’t make as many mistakes. And the way I see it, Derek would benefit a hell of a lot if he can avoid growing up with all that trauma. It will be a ton of work, but I’m prepared to do it.“

Scott just looked over and stared at him. ”What would we- how…“

”Get them new documents like birth certificates naming me as Stiles’ guardian. He could be my cousin’s kid, you know, like we’ve been telling everyone. Derek, can be someone I am ’fostering’. I’ll make it work if we have to. Anything to keep them from going through a potentially dangerous spell.“

He pull to a stop outside the old Hale property, where Scott palliated his concerns before he even stepped foot out of the car.

”They’re in there. I hear them talking to the dog.“

John approached the house with caution, carrying the two blankets he’d stashed in the back. The last thing he wanted was to scare Stiles away further. ”Boys, I know you’re in there, and I know you’re mad at us. You don’t have to talk to me. Just, I am going to put these blankets right inside the door, and I want you to take them. It’s cold out here. Okay?“

The wood of the front porch creaked as he stepped foot upon it. The door opened a crack, and he set the fleece throws inside. He heard shuffling on the other side; then the door closed. He was pretty sure both Stiles and Derek were sitting on the other side of it. So, he mirrored their positions.

”I’m sorry we lied to you. Remember how we said magic made you young again but you didn’t believe us? Well, since we didn’t know for how long you’d be little, we didn’t want you to suffer. So we told you a story to make it seem like your mom, and your family Derek were okay justaway. I wanted to keep you from hurting.“

He expected Stiles to be the one to break the silence, and found himself floored that it was Derek who spoke first.

”What happened to my house?“

John sighed. ”I’m sure you can tell there was a fire.“

”Uh huh.“

Over the years, he’d gleaned the truth from Stiles, and decided that though he was coming clean about Derek’s family, there was no need for him to remind him of his abusive relationship with Kate. ”It was hunters. Do you know about hunters? Did your mother talk about them?”

“Yeah,” Derek sniffled. “Sometimes there’s hunters that don’t care if we’ve never hurt nobody. They just hate us because of who we are. Mama says we gotta be careful about who we tell.”

“That’s right. These hunters didn’t care.”

The door opened up again, and Derek peeked out the small opening. “You said I was old before and magic made me six again? How old was I when they died?”

John’s features softened. “Sixteen. You and Laura were at school. I took you both to the station after the fire, sat you down on a bench, gave you a blanket and some hot cocoa.”

“Then…what happened to Laura?”

“She was killed when you were twenty-one.”

“How old am I really?”

“Twenty-eight.”

Derek’s eyes bugged out of his head. “I’m so _old_. Do I got a pet? A boyfriend or girlfriend?”

“No.”

With that, Derek’s face fell, and he was silent for several moments. “I don’t have nobody who loves me?”

“You have your pack.”

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “They’re not my pack. I have blue eyes. I have no one.”

 _Bite the bullet, John. Stiles may hate you for this if he ever gets back to his own age, but you have to tell him._ “That’s not true. You had Stiles. You didn’t know it, but he loves you. He thought you didn’t really like him, though.”

“How?” Derek opened the door more and sat down next to him. “How could he think that? He’s my one true love.”

“Love is complicated when you’re a grown up. It’s not as easy.”

“It should be.” Derek looked down at his fingers in his lap. “If magic made us little, can it make us big again?”

Once more, John sighed. “Yes, maybe, but it isn’t safe for you when you are this young. You’d have to wait a while.”

“But…if I got no family…where’ll I go?”

John hated the way Derek’s voice broke on the last word. “You won’t have to go anywhere. You can live with Stiles and me. You won’t be alone; I promise.”

“Your heart; it stayed the same.”

“Because it was the truth. Now, do you think you can get Stiles to talk to me?”

Derek shrugged, but went back inside anyway. Through the door, he could hear Derek’s words.

“Stiles, your papa’s here, and he wants to talk to you.”

“No! Go away, Daddy! You’re a liar!”

John flinched at his son’s harsh words. “Stiles, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care!” Stiles snapped at him as he came out onto the porch. “Mommy’s not on a trip! She’s dead! Why would you say that?”

He knelt down in front of him. “Stiles, son, she was sick for so long. And you…didn’t handle it well after she died. It was really hard for you.” He swallowed hard. If he was willing to omit some details for Derek, well he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Stiles about the panic attacks, how his mother thought Stiles was trying kill her, how in a paranoid delusion she actually attacked him. How could he remind him that in the end, Stiles actually believed that just by being around her, that he had killed her? “I didn’t want you to have to live through that again; I was trying to protect you. I’m your dad. It’s my job. Tell me what you need me to do to make it up to you.”

“I’m keeping Cocoa Puff.” Stiles pushed past him and headed straight for the cruiser with Derek shuffling after him with the dog—Cocoa Puff, he presumed—following closely.

“That could have gone worse,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, but at least we found them.”

With a nod of agreement, he patted Scott on the shoulder. The drive home was awkwardly silent except for the sound of Cocoa Puff panting in the backseat.

  


 


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, John watched them from the kitchen. Stiles and Derek sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of Fruit Loops in front of each of them. Periodically, one of them would reach into their cereal bowls and throw a piece at the other. It was usually Stiles doing it, but Derek apparently thought it was hilarious when the fruity o’s bounced off him and onto the floor where Cocoa Puff greedily munched them up. 

“Boys, I don’t think you should be giving the puppy people food. We’ll take him for a walk after breakfast and then to the pet store.” 

The look Stiles gave him was frosty at best. Obviously, he was still mad, not that John expected to be forgiven overnight. He was just glad that both boys had been found safe (though Derek would have lasted in the cold for much longer than Stiles). 

“But he’s hungry! You can’t starve him.” 

John held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. But let’s see if there is something better for him to eat.” 

He began to scour the contents of the fridge where he found some carrots and a leftover chicken breast from dinner the night before. After he’d rinsed the seasoning off the meat and chopped the carrots, he set a bowl on the ground where Cocoa Puff began to chow down. “See. That’s better for him to eat. Dogs shouldn’t eat sugary things. It’s bad for them. You want him to be big and strong right?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with being small,” Derek said, his voice whisper soft. 

“No. You’re right; there isn’t. Now go get dressed, boys.” 

Stiles and Derek looked at each other, and Stiles said, “I’ll race you,” with a grin. 

 

*** 

 

“Come on, Cocoa Puff. You gotta keep up,” Stiles whined, tugging on the rope his dad had tied around the loop in the dog’s collar. When he saw that Cocoa Puff was not in the mood to listen, he stopped and knelt down to look him in the eye. 

“Now listen, buddy. Exercise is important. I don’t want you to get sick. Okay? Come on.” 

A chuckle startled him, and he looked up to see a man in a fancy suit like the kind Scotty’s dad wore all the time. Stiles never liked that guy. He always smelled like a grown up drink. “That’s what you get for adopting the runt.” 

“What?” 

“They didn’t get enough nutrients when they were in their mother’s stomach. So not only will you have a dog too small to take hunting, but your dog will be a pain in the ass. It will be stubborn and dumb and never learn. Runts are bad dogs.” 

Stiles gasped. “Hey! Just cause he’s small doesn’t mean he’s a bad dog! He’s a nice puppy, and I love him! I don’t want to take him hunting. I want to play with him!” 

Just as his dad and Derek had finally noticed his absence and come to stand beside him, the man shook his head and walked off. Under his breath, he said something about ’dumb kids.’ 

“I’m not dumb! I’m the best reader in my class! And Cocoa Puff is going to be the best dog ever! You’re just a big meanie who needs a hug!” 

His dad squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry about him, Stiles. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. There is nothing wrong with your dog being small as long as he’s healthy, and given that you got him from Dr. Deaton, I’m just going to assume he is healthy. That reminds me, I need to stop buy and fill out the paperwork for Cocoa Puff. Remember, you have to take care of him. A dog is a big responsibility.” 

“I will. I will take him on a walk everyday, and play with him. Derek will have to help clean up Cocoa’s poop. I’m not gonna do that all by myself.” 

 

***

 

As he walked into the room, John patted Cocoa Puff’s head on his way to tuck Stiles in. He’d put his foot down on Derek sleeping in the same bed last night. If the two of them were stuck in their six year old selves for an extended period of time (or would have to relive their whole lives from this point), they would have to sleep in their own rooms. Neither of them had been very happy about it. 

“Daddy,” Stiles said after John had kissed his forehead, “can Derek and me get bunkbeds?” 

He considered the question. There was no reason the two of them couldn’t share a room if that was what they wanted. “I will think about it. You still have to sleep in your own beds.” 

“I know, but that’s why bunkbeds are the best.” 

“We’ll see. Good night, Stiles. I love you.” 

“Love you too. Night, Daddy.” 

John switched off the light and closed the door before walking across the hall. Derek was sitting in his bed, covers over his lap with Stiles’ battered copy of _The Little Prince_ in his hands. “Hey, kiddo. Time to put the book away.” 

Derek put the book on the nightstand and looked down at his hands. “Pa- I mean, Mr. Stilinski…if I’m gonna stay here now…what am I? Am I a guest or friend or…” 

“Are you asking me if I will treat you like one of the family? Of course I will. If you’re asking what you should call me, or what I am to you- what would you like?” 

“I don’t know.” He took a deep breath. “I miss my family, my mama and papa. I miss Laura and everyone. What is old me like?” 

John sat down on the edge of the bed. “When Stiles met  you, you were angry and scared. You wanted to find out what happened to Laura. But you tried. You really did try to be better. Now…well now you’re just sad. You think you hide it well, but, Derek, I’ve been a police officer for a long time now. I’m good at reading people. Do you know what I mean by that?” 

“I think so.” Derek scooted down the bed, and John pulled the covers up over his chest. “I don’t want to be sad or angry when I’m old. Is it okay if I call you by your name?” 

“Sure. That’s perfectly fine.” 

Derek nodded. “Thanks for not sending me somewhere else.” 

It hurt John’s heart, because at the basest level, these emotions and insecurities were the essence of adult Derek. These were things that he had probably never said aloud, never talked to anyone about how alone he felt, and that- well that was just not right. “I couldn’t do that, Derek. You’re pack, and pack takes care of each other. Just like a family. Besides, how could I send away Stiles’ future husband?” 

Derek yawned, giving him a sleepy smile. “He’s my true love. Can I…tell you something about werewolves?” 

“Yeah.” 

“My mama and papa were mates. It’s something special to werewolves, something not… what’s a word that means not everyone gets one?” 

“Mates are a rare thing?” 

“Yeah. Rare.” John watched him repeat the word softly a few times, committing it to memory. “She tells me- told me stories all the time. She said if I was lucky to find mine…I’d know it. I think she meant my one true love.” 

Oh…oh. Well, that sure explained a lot. “That sure sounds special.” 

“Was Stiles’ mama your true love?” 

John sighed, wistful. “Yeah, son. She was.” 

“I bet you miss her a whole bunch.” 

“Yeah, but I have still have Stiles, and now I have you.” 

“G’night.” 

“Sleep tight, Derek. I love you.”  John was caught off guard when Derek sat up and crushed him in a hug. He rubbed his back and tried pinpoint when, over these last few weeks that Derek Hale—Mr. Murder Brows, as he’d often heard Stiles call him—had wormed his way into his heart like he’d been there his whole life. The words may have slipped out, but they felt as natural as when he’d said them to Stiles minutes before. 

He let Derek hold the embrace for as long as he wanted, and John wondered how long it had been since someone had hugged him before he became six again. Too long, probably. 

 

*** 

  
  


Harsh sunlight hit him in the face, and Stiles groaned, rolling over in his bed. It only took him a moment to notice something was wrong. He sat up to rub his eyes and heard a distinct noise, the sound of ripping fabric. His head was pounding, and he was starving. He looked down at his lap and…his very much adult body. 

“Holy shit!” He jumped out of bed, the events of the last few weeks fresh in his mind. Cocoa Puff picked up his head from his bed and trotted over to him. He gave Stiles a good sniff, and then licked his hand, seemingly convinced that this Stiles and the one the dog had known were one and the same. 

Stiles grabbed a pair of boxers and sweatpants from his dresser, hastily pulling them on, all while trying to walk at the same time. Then he rushed across the hall where he found Derek peeling the shredded remains of his pajamas off his body. He couldn’t help himself. 

His eyes drank their fill of him, of that muscular form, the chest hair, the stubble he’d grown to love over the years. 

Stiles couldn’t even blink. Not even twelve hours before, the two of them had shared a bubble bath. They’d shared the same bed for the better part of three weeks. Hell, there were dozens of drawings plastered to the walls of the house depicting them as boyfriends. He remembered everything, every moment, every hug and innocent kiss on the cheek. He remembered the feel of Derek’s breath against his arm as they slept. He remembered taking care of Derek’s injured knee and burned hand with the tender care of a loved one. Now…What was going to happen now? 

Stiles’ heart was in his throat. 

“We’re back,” was all that Derek said as he stared back at him. The intensity of his gaze made Stiles flush with insecurity. After several moments of silence, Derek grabbed the blanket off his bed and wrapped it around his waist like a towel. “Stiles…say something.” 

“Do you…remember anything?” he asked, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. On the chance Derek had no memory of his time as a child, Stiles didn’t want to give anything away. 

“Yes.” 

Stiles licked his lips, worried his bottom one between his teeth. “I don’t… I…” 

He watched Derek’s face fall. “You don’t remember?” 

“No, I do. I just…all those pictures we drew, holding my hand, the goodnight kisses- I know we were just kids, but…I don’t want that feeling to go away. I want to keep you.” He took a shuddering breath as tears fell down his face. “I’ve been in love with you since you told me to go save Scott in Mexico, when I thought you were dying. Just if…you don’t feel that way like this,” he pointed to Derek, “please be gentle when you let me down.” He rubbed away the tears from his closed eyes, only to open them when he felt Derek’s too warm hand cup his cheek. 

He was met with the warmest affection he’d ever seen on Derek’s face, and he felt his heart stop in his chest for a beat. His breath caught in his throat. Derek caressed Stiles’ cheek with his thumb. “How could I not? You’re my one true love.” 

The first press of Derek’s lips against his sucked the air from his chest. His knees felt weak, but Derek encircled Stiles’ waist, holding him close. When his mind came back online, he kissed back in earnest. His own arms wrapped around Derek’s neck. 

  
  


***

 

Derek took a shuddering breath and pulled back. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. Before, I thought I didn’t deserve to be happy…” 

“And now?” 

He shrugged. “I know that’s total bullshit.” 

The second kiss was dirtier than the first, catching him off-guard. Stiles guided him backwards to the bed, and they tumbled onto the mattress. Stiles’ weight on top of him forced the air from his lungs. He licked into Stiles’ mouth, not bothered by the fact that neither of them had brushed their teeth. 

Above him, Stiles moaned against his lips, and Derek savored the sound and the way it vibrated through his chest. 

They were lost in their own world when the bedroom door opened. “Derek, have you seen- Oh. I’ll just.” 

As soon as the door shut, they broke out in laughter. 

“Oh my God. My dad-” 

“I know.” Derek rubbed their noses together. 

“I would love to keep this up, but I’m starving.” 

 

***

 

“So…” John started when Stiles and Derek came downstairs, thankfully wearing more clothes than minutes earlier. Though the shirt Derek wore was a little snug, the pajama pants seemed to fit (thank God). “You’re back.” 

“Yeah. Bout time, huh?” 

He stepped forward and embraced his son. “Don’t get me wrong, I liked six year old self, but I missed you.” 

“It’s good to be back, Dad.” 

“What did you learn? I mean what made you change back?” 

“I think it was when I defended the dog, you know, being small is okay?” 

Stiles released him and moved into the kitchen for coffee no doubt, and John took the moment to pull Derek into a hug, an action Derek was clearly not expecting if his stiff posture was any indication. “Come on, Derek. We Stilinski men are huggers.” 

“I didn’t think you’d still…let me be…” 

“Nonsense. What I said yesterday is still true. You are the same person you were last night. You’re part of this family now, Derek.” 

Derek’s face filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. “I…thanks. It’s nice to be part of one of those again.” 

“Now, if you’d excuse me, I need to go let Scott know you’re back to normal.” 

Derek walked past him and towards the cup of coffee Stiles had poured for him. He lifted it and took a sip. “It’s…you know how I like my coffee?” 

“What can I say? I’m good.” 

He set the cup down and wrapped his arms once more around Stiles’ waist. “That you are,” he mumbled against the skin of Stiles’ forehead as he kissed him. “And I… want to keep you, too.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on [tumblr](http://captaintinymite.tumblr.com/)


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